Not yet.
A cornered enemy is the most dangerous enemy of all. History has taught this lesson in blood, and we dare not forget it in a moment of adrenaline. When a regime built on fanaticism feels the walls closing in, it does not surrender gracefully; it thrashes. It claws. It fires wildly in every direction. Victory parades are for later. Now is the hour for vigilance.
Our hearts break for the lives already lost. Each name is a universe. Each funeral is a world collapsed into a grave. We sit comfortably in our kitchens and living rooms, but our brothers and sisters in Israel sit in reinforced rooms—safe rooms that are anything but safe for the soul. Children are counting seconds between sirens. Mothers are pretending not to tremble. Fathers are pretending not to calculate worst-case scenarios. Anxiety has become the national soundtrack.
And yet there they stand.
Young Israeli soldiers, barely older than the students in our yeshivot and universities, shoulder rifles heavier than their years. American servicemen and women, representing the might of the United States, position themselves not for conquest but for containment—for the ugly, necessary task of pushing back tyranny before it metastasizes.
Let us speak plainly: tyranny does not retire. It does not mellow with age. It does not negotiate in good faith when its theology or ideology demands annihilation. When such forces are cornered, they grow desperate. And desperation armed with rockets is not a theoretical danger; it is a midnight phone call.
We are not yet ready to celebrate because this is not yet over.
There is a temptation, especially among political commentators and social media generals, to declare turning points, to speak of “decisive blows,” to tweet victory emojis while others sit in bomb shelters. That temptation is obscene. Real war is not a press release. It is sweat pooling under body armor. It is a soldier whispering Shema under his breath. It is a mother clutching her child as the concrete walls shake.
Yes, we are grateful. Grateful for the bravery. Grateful for the coordination. Grateful that tyrants are being challenged rather than appeased. But gratitude is not triumphalism. Gratitude bows its head; triumphalism puffs out its chest.
A Jew must say what is uncomfortable: we do not measure success by how loudly we cheer, but by how soberly we assess the moral cost. Every missile intercepted is a miracle of engineering. Every civilian spared is a mercy. But every escalation reminds us how fragile civilization truly is.
A cornered enemy is dangerous because it has nothing left to lose. That is precisely why our side must never lose its soul. We fight tyranny not to become a mirror of it, but to prevent it from swallowing the innocent.
So pray.
Pray for the soldiers who stand in harm’s way. Pray for the families who wait by their phones. Pray for wisdom among leaders who must make decisions measured not in headlines but in lives. Pray that restraint accompanies strength.
Celebration will come when the sirens fall silent—not for a night, not for a week, but for good. Until then, we stand with our brothers and sisters. We ache with them. We refuse to look away.
And we remember: the most dangerous moment is not when the enemy advances confidently—but when it realizes it is cornered.
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| A Very Worthy Tzedaka |
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